All the World's a Stage
by Pepstepper16
Summary: Sequel to Dance...etc. Hermione must choose between a promising stage career and starting a family with her husband. RHr, post Hogwarts
1. Center Stage Every Single Day

**_A/N: This is the sequel to Dance: Scandalous, Innocent, and Utterly Amazing.. If you haven't read that yet, I strongly suggest you do, as you will be extremely confused! Plus, in my own opinion, it's the best fanfiction I've written. Everything is set post-Hogwarts, and since I began this series with Dance, etc. before HBP, the plot will not take into account anything that happened in HBP. This is R/H from Hermione's POV. I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory. _**

**Chapter 1: Center Stage—Every Single Day**

_"All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players.  
They have their exits and their entrances,  
And one man in his time plays many parts,  
His acts being seven ages." _

_ William Shakespeare_

"Places in five, people, _places in five_, let's go, let's go; we've got a full house tonight!" Chelsea McBride, stage manager of the Star Crossed Magic Players, strode purposefully past each dressing room door, giving the wood a couple sharp knocks. I could hear her voice getting louder with every passing second. Eventually, my closed door suffered a few blows from her relentless pounding fist.

"Places in five, Hermione!" she called.

I snatched up my wand, which was lying on my cosmetic-covered vanity table, and twirled a stray piece of hair around it. The hair curled perfectly into place.

No matter how many times I saw this reflection, it never ceased to make me laugh. My pale pink character shoes, my voluminous sparkly pink skirt, the tight-fitted satin bodice, the rhinestone-encrusted crown, and the spiral curls transformed me into an over-the-top fairy godmother. This wasn't the Hermione Weasley everyone was used to; I looked like a psychotic Barbie doll rather than the famous Hogwarts bookworm.

More banging shook me out of my reverie. "Hermione, I need to do a costume check—now!" Chelsea ordered.

"Coming!" I snatched up my skirt and hurried to the door. As soon as I opened it, I was greeted by Chelsea's sharp scowl. Her blue eyes ran up and down my ridiculous costume as she mentally checked off each item that I needed onstage.

"Your wand!" Her eyes widened as she checked her watch. "Two minutes!" she blared down the hallway. I sped back into the dressing room and grabbed my ridiculous prop wand, which had pink swaths of tulle hanging from each point of the star on its tip.

"Check." I grinned as I waved the wand in front of her face. She rolled her eyes and groaned.

"Don't do this, Hermione; I'm under enough stress as it is." She glanced at her wrist again. "One minute!" she screamed down the hall. As she sped toward the stage to do a final props check, I calmed the butterflies that had invaded my stomach.

Though a year had passed since my debut on the stage as Glinda the Good Witch, the butterflies still came back every single night that I performed. True, they were nowhere near as bad as when I first began acting in Wicked, but they returned without fail.

That wasn't the only thing that had changed in my life during the past year. After moving back to England from New York, I'd had to readjust to my wizarding lifestyle again. Relearning all my Hogwarts spells had been no easy task, but I'd managed to remember most of them with a month's hard studying. I'd also reunited with people I hadn't seen since I'd left Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick, the new Headmaster at Hogwarts, offered me a post at the school when I bumped into him in Flourish and Blotts. With a smile, I refused.

"Professor, I'm flattered," I'd said, "but I'm so busy with the Players, and…"

"Yes, yes, I quite understand," he sighed. "You were one of the most exceptional students I'd ever had; it's a shame that you're passing up the opportunity to share your knowledge…We're in desperate need of a Transfiguration professor, haven't gotten a proper one since Minerva's death…" He walked away, muttering to himself sadly. I turned away and uncomfortably continued my shopping, wondering how exactly I'd gotten a job offer in thirty seconds. Strange….

I'd also spotted Parvati Patil walking down Diagon Alley with her boyfriend, Viktor Krum. She didn't say anything to me like the last time we'd met at Acromantula, the club, but it wasn't difficult for me to translate the nasty glare I received. I wondered if she had heard the good (well, in her case, bad) news.

Six months after I returned from England, Ron and I were married. We had a fairly small ceremony, out in a flowery meadow not far from the Burrow. Forgoing formal attire, I'd worn one of Ellie's white tube tops and a white peasant skirt that just touched the tops of my bare feet. Ron had looked amazing in a simple white button-down shirt, untucked, and blue jeans. At first, Mrs. Weasley was disappointed that I, just like Ginny, hadn't chosen to wear her wedding dress, but she eventually conceded, thankful that I had at least worn white.

We had a Muggle preacher do the official vows, and then we added a twist of our own. We each wrote a little "speech", vows of our own, declaring our love fore each other. Of course, I lived up to my school reputation, going on and on for ten minutes or so, poised the entire time (I'd practiced).

"…so, Ronald Weasley, I'm honored to become your wife. Someone's got to be there for you to celebrate when you're triumphant, pick you up when you're down, hold a bucket in front of your face when you accidentally eat a Puking Pastille--" (this got a few laughs) "and, most importantly, tell you I love you every single day for the rest of our lives together." I fell silent. I heard Mrs. Weasley give a faint sniffle from my right side.

Ron took a deep breath. "Well, 'Mione, that was quite a speech," he said with a grin. Everyone laughed. "I don't think I can come close to topping it, and it's a great deal shorter, but it's from the heart." Mrs. Weasley let out a small sob, and I felt my own eyes begin to fill up.

He drew another deep breath. "I can still remember clearly the first time we'd spoken to each other. Thanks to George's bogus spell--" (George chuckled from his seat) "—you realized that I was not the brightest bulb in the box and decided to help me through seven years of school. I loved you then, even as an eleven-year-old."

My eyes spilled over.

"I never stopped, not once."

I tried to stifle a sob, which came out as half a laugh. I could tell Mrs. Weasley was already gone, and most of the women around us were sniffling. I looked up into Ron's face and saw that even he was tearing up. He finished, in a whisper, "And I never, ever will."

At this point, I threw my arms around him and let myself go. After a few seconds and a river of tears, I broke away. Ron smiled and wiped a tear from his eye before he bent to kiss me.

We'd had an amazing time so far. The hardest part for me was moving out of the flat I was sharing with my Muggle friend from Julliard, Ellie White. She was heartbroken that I wouldn't be around as often, but she was comforted by the fact that she'd have more opportunities to see Charlie Weasley, her current infatuation, more often.

"You know, you've gotta hook us up, Hermione," she had declared as I packed away the last of my things. "I mean, think about it: we could be sisters! Well, sort of…"

I laughed. "I'll see what I can do, but I'm stopping short of a love potion."

"Damn it!" She collapsed dramatically on her bed, pretending to be shot through the heart. "I'm going to become an old maid, I swear! I'll live alone with a hundred cats, living off of prunes and cottage cheese!"

"You will not!" I rolled my eyes. She grinned in her special Ellie way. I couldn't help but smile back, despite her exaggeration.

"Places! Places _now_! Curtain in two!" Chelsea's voice shook me out of my thoughts yet again. Rolling my shoulders, I took a few deep breaths and a last sip of water. As I click-clacked in my heels toward the stage, I got into character and became Glinda. I left behind all my thoughts of Ron and Ellie and Hogwarts and Harry and traveled from one magical world to another.

**_So_****_….pretty please, review! I'm going to try to update this at least once a week, maybe more if I can get the chance. The bigger plot will come in the next chapter, I'm just trying to set it up right now. Okay then, go review!_**


	2. Two Heated Arguments

**_A/N: Thanks to my fabulous reviewers: Silver Ice, Weasel Princess, neespence, and Misshogwarts1125!_******

**_I own none of these characters except the ones I created. I also don't own Carmen or The Phantom of the Opera._**

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**_Chapter 2: Two Heated Discussions_**

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_"Acting in general, is something most people think they're incapable of but they do it from morning to night. The subtlest acting I've ever seen is by ordinary people trying to show they feel something they don't or trying to hide something. It's something everyone learns at an early age." –Marlon Brando_

"Hermione! Hermione! Over here!" What seemed to be the entire Daily Prophet staff beckoned me to the area they'd staked out in the hallway the second I left my dressing room, clad in a black sweat suit. Chelsea tried her best to hold them back, but she was struggling. One of the photographers looked to be about two hundred pounds; he could've eaten tiny Chelsea for breakfast.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione!" Amy Larson, the woman who played Elphaba, and a good friend of mine as well, poked her head out of her head out of her dressing room, her face still smeared with green makeup. Even her dark chestnut hair had a few streaks of the goop.

"Oh, no, I won't be here, I'm taking a mental health day," I joked. "Annabelle's doing it."

"Damn it, you're leaving it to the amateurs, Weasley? I'm disappointed!" She winked. We had an ongoing joke about Annabelle Buchanan and Casey Dean, two chorus members who also understudied our roles. They were only a couple years younger than us, but they still treated Amy and me as if we were royalty, similar to Colin Creevey's obsession with Harry in second year. It was a little flattering and amusing at first, but the novelty quickly wore off. I mean, we really weren't that much more experienced or talented!

"I'll be back before you know it." I smiled at Amy.

We would have continued to bash the younger girls, but then the obese photographer snapped a picture of Amy's makeup-smeared face. Big mistake…she responded with a string of expletives that not even Ron could top, even on a bad day. I giggled to myself. Even the little things reminded me of him. I apparently hadn't graduated from the twelve-year-old crush-phase just yet. I turned from Amy's door, still beaming, and walked smack into my boss.

"Oh! Delia! Great show, huh?" I spouted off nervously.

Delia Robbins, executive producer at the Star Crossed Magic Players, was one person you didn't want to cross. She could make your life a living hell if she so desired. She could end your career faster than you could say "_Expelliarmus_". And at this very moment, she looked pretty peeved about something.

"Mental healthy day, Hermione?" she questioned frostily, raising a thinly plucked blonde eyebrow. "That's the last thing you want to say in front of the press, you know…they'll think you're stressed out…"

"Sorry." I apologized, though I couldn't detect any remorse in my voice, and I'm sure she didn't either. "I'll be more careful next time." I stepped to my right, hoping to escape, but she stopped me again.

"I wasn't aware you were taking the day off tomorrow."

"Delia, we cleared this three weeks ago!" I blurted angrily. "I'm spending time with some family and going Christmas shopping with my husband."

I stood, silently seething, as Delia pursed her red lipsticked lips and glared at the photographers, who were eagerly cooking up a headline for the next big scandal they'd discovered.

"Fine," she responded coolly, her voice cutting through me like ice. "Annabelle will take it tomorrow. You can have your fun. However, Hermione," she looked at me with a steely gaze, "you need to seriously consider what would be best for your career at this point. You've only been here for a year; I'm not sure you have the power to ask for a shopping day whenever you please. Remember, you have a reputation to maintain, and it's not like your career's going to last thirty years after this, anyway. Your days are already numbered."

"Thank you, Delia, I must be going now," I muttered through gritted teeth. "My check, please?"

She dug in her enormous dragon skin purse and pulled out a blue envelope, which she handed reluctantly to me.

"Thank you very much," I forced as cheerfully as possible. I even pasted on a fake Cheshire cat smile for good measure. I knew Delia saw right through it—she'd seen enough bad acting over the many (many, many, many…many—hah! I thought to myself) years. Before she could add anything else, I walked about three feet away from her and Apparated back to the flat that Ron and I now shared.

I dropped my purse on top of the marble-topped counter and spotted a stray piece of paper lying by the stove. It was a note from Ron:

_Went out to unjinx one of those damned Muggle Stay-Playtons. Be back as soon as I can. Love, R._

Though I was alone and clearly had nothing to be embarrassed about, I could feel the blood heating my cheeks. It still amazed me how a simple note from him could make me feel so happy.

I left the note on the counter where it was and quickly fixed myself a late dinner of beef stew. After I cleaned up my dishes, I padded into the bathroom and closed the door, eager for a long, hot shower.

Even as a small child, I always sang in the bathtub or shower (the acoustics are best in the bathroom, you know). When I first went to Hogwarts, I annoyed all of the Gryffindor girls by warbling as I shampooed my thick brown hair. Eventually, I learned to shut up, but I hated it—it was like keeping Harry from playing Quidditch: it made me miserable. Thankfully, I enjoyed the luxury of the prefect's bathroom from fifth year on, where I could vocalize to my heart's desire (though Moaning Myrtle occasionally dropped in).

"_Quand je vous aimerai? Ma foi, je ne __sais__ pas, Peut-être jamais, peut-être demain. Mais pas aujourd'hui, c'est certain_." It was a piece from _Carmen_ I'd been working on in my voice lessons. My teacher, Julianna Evans, put a special emphasis on Broadway, which was appropriate, but insisted that I study classical opera as well. My voice soared effortlessly up to the highest notes and plunged dramatically into my alto range in the next instant. It was a difficult piece, but, as everyone knew, I loved a challenge.

As I wrapped a towel around my body, I switched to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye…." I pulled on my favorite comfy blue flannel pajamas. Starring actress I might be, I still remained the same old me.

After I dressed, I walked out of the bathroom, rubbing my hair with the towel and continued singing, lost in my daydream.

"Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try-iiiiiiiiie!" My perfect musical phrase was interrupted by a red-headed, freckly man. No, boy…he still seemed to me the same eleven-year- old on the train with dirt smudged on his nose.

He shook his head and chuckled, wrapping his arms around me. "Never stop, do you?"

"I've made a habit of bringing my work home with me, what can I say?" I shrugged as I sat on the queen bed. "Speaking of work, how were the—er—Playstations?"

"Oh, you know…" He looked away from me. "Did you get tomorrow off?

"Yeah, with a bit of a struggle." Ron didn't question me—he'd met Delia before.

"No pay either?"

"No, why would she pay me if I wasn't working?" Unintentionally, I spoke as if I was explaining why grass was green to a three year old.

"Sometimes I get paid vacation."

Though he'd never admitted it directly, I suspected that Ron resented the fact that my paycheck was always twice as much as his. I couldn't understand it—we were working as a team, right? We shared! Why did he feel as if he had to be the breadwinner and support me? It really bothered me when our discussions turned to money now, since I felt like we couldn't speak freely.

After a long pause, I ventured timidly, "You know what, sweetheart, let's just go ahead and go to bed; it's been a long day for both of us. Let's just enjoy the day off tomorrow and not worry about mon—anything."

He looked at me in a hard sort of way, then finally answered, "Alright." He walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I fell against the pillows, suddenly exhausted, and closed my eyes. Within minutes, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

**_A/N: Please please please…review! I don't understand the logic behind 26 hits and only 4 reviews!_**

**_For those of you who have begged me to update: To be honest, I'm not sure what's going to happen with this story yet. I've got it set at nine chapters now, which is considerably shorter than Dance… . I may condense it so I can get through it quicker, since the time I'll be able to update is pretty limited, thanks to stupid summer reading for school (darn you, Upton Sinclair and John Steinbeck!). But I'll do my very best to update once a week at the very least. _**


	3. A Family Fiasco

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**_A/N: Yay, early on my update! I'm excited….this chapter actually is my favorite so far._**

**_Thanks to all my reviewers! At the moment, my computer won't let me access my reviews to see who you all are, but you all will receive presents when I figure it out. Hehehe…_**

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**_Chapter 3: A Family Fiasco_**

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_"Families are like fudge... mostly sweet with a few nuts." Author Unknown_

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The next day, Ron and I leapt out of bed and quickly dressed.

"What time are we meeting everyone again?" I inquired as I applied just a hint of mascara to my eyelashes.

"Nine 'o clock, Mione, they've only been reminding us every day for the past month now," he replied sarcastically.

Stung, I turned away from the mirror and looked at him in surprise. I wasn't sure if he was still upset about our argument from the night before. My stomach dropped when I registered his cold, indifferent expression.

"Ron, I'm sorry…" I couldn't really articulate what exactly I was sorry for, though. I felt the inner corners of my eyes begin to prickle.

Before the tears spilled, thankfully, his stone scowl broke into his trademark boyish grin. "Kidding." He winked.

"Oh….you--!" I hurled the tube of mascara across the room in mock frustration, nailing him on his left shoulder. He laughed, and I couldn't help but join in. I ran across the room and tackled him, forcing him onto the unmade bed.

"You know, let's just forget last night ever happened," I said, laying my head on his chest.

"Mmmmm….well, if arguing leads to situations like this, I'm not too sure I'm keen on getting along with you."

"Ron!" His name came out as half a laugh.

He moved his left hand from my back to glance at his watch. "Blimey, it's five till. As much as I hate to say it…"

"We'd better get a move on." I finished his sentence. I rolled off of him, stood up, and tucked a few unruly strands of hair behind my ears. "Don't worry," I added suggestively, "we'll pick up where we left off later."

If this would have transpired five years ago, Ron would have turned purple, spluttered incomprehensibly for thirty seconds, and finally run out of the room. It was a sign of how much we'd both grown up when he responded coolly, "I can't wait."

Instead of Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron, where we were meeting everyone, we decided to go "the long way", as Ron liked to call it. We strolled out of our flat into Diagon Alley, admiring the lavish displays of Christmas decorations in every window, including a set of child's Chudley Cannons robes hanging in a Quidditch shop. The second he saw them, Ron made a beeline for the bright orange robes.

"Wicked…" I could practically see him salivating. "I always wanted a set like these when I was younger…"

"Well, I think you're a bit big for them now, don't you agree?" I teased. A bit big? The hem of the robes would have fallen at his waist, and he wouldn't have been able to fit his arm, much less his head, through the neck.

"Yeah, but I was thinking…maybe for someone else…" He turned to me, his blue eyes shining.

"Harry's smaller than you, but I doubt he'll fit into those either."

"Hermione!" He groaned, rolling his eyes, but his tone of voice was good-natured.

"Okay, seriously…who would you buy those for?"

"I dunno….maybe one of Bill's boys, I guess." For some reason, I got the sense he was hiding something, but given our recent argument, I decided not to push it.

"We better go for real now," I said, checking my watch. "we're nearly five minutes late."

We briskly walked the quarter-mile to the Leaky Cauldron, where we had no trouble identifying our family; the majority of them had flaming ginger hair.

"Gin!" I couldn't help exclaiming as I caught sight of my best friend. Throwing my arms around her, I squealed, "You look great! How are you?"

"Oh, you know, I'm as good as I can be running on four hours of sleep," she joked. As I took a closer look at her face, I noticed dark circles under her eyes, but, except for that and a slightly thicker waistline, she was still the same Ginny I giggled with at Hogwarts.

"Merlin, James is getting big!" I commented, turning to Harry, who cradled their seven month old in his arms.

"I know," Harry replied with a smile (I noticed he had circles too, in addition to some stubble on his chin), "my arms get tired after twenty minutes or so."

I gazed down at baby James. He captured the most obvious features of his parents; his wide emerald eyes stared at me in innocent wonder, and a shock of red hair had already sprouted from his head. I ran my index finger down his cheek, and he broke into a smile, his baby fat dimpling.

The moment could have become something much more meaningful, but two shrill voices arguing in the background jarred me from my thoughts.

"NO! Don't want to!" A darling little girl with silvery blonde hair was throwing a full-scale temper tantrum. A beautiful woman with matching hair desperately tried to reason with her, brandishing a tiny pink cloak.

"Fleur?" I gasped, approaching her.

"Not now, 'Ermione," she brushed me off. "Eesabel, you 'ave to wear your cloak! Eet ees very cold outside, and I do not want you to get sick!"

"_NONONONONONO!_" For such a small girl, she sure had a lot of lung power.

"Sorry you have to see that, Hermione," a red-haired man spoke. It was Bill, with his three other children in tow. "Isabel's smack in the middle of her terrible twos right now."

"It's completely fine," I replied with a smile. "How's Gringotts?"

He began, "Well, I—"

"Daddy, when are we going to get Grandma's present?" a small, redheaded boy piped up next to him.

"In just a few minutes, Davy," he replied graciously. Turning back to me, he continued, "I just—"

"Can we get her a hippogriff?" Davy interrupted again.

"_No_, Davy," Bill replied again. An annoyed tone crept into his voice, though he still spoke kindly. "I don't think Grandma would like—"

"Glinda!" Bill's other daughter, Diane, launched herself at me, hitting me in the knees. Ever since her family had seen me in Wicked, Diane was convinced that I actually _was_ Glinda, even when I was without my pink gown and out of character.

"Dad, can I have some firewhisky?" The oldest boy, Joaquin, ambled over to our group, looking hopeful.

"No, Joaquin, you may not," Bill responded sternly as he tried to pry Diane from my leg, though he wore an amused expression. "You're ten years old, why on Earth would you think your mother and I would buy—"

"But Uncle Ron said he would."

Bill and I shot Ron identical glared. At that very second, Isabel decided to dart between Fleur's legs and made a beeline for the Muggle street. Bill and I both ran toward the screaming girl. Well, I attempted to, at least; Diane was still clamped to my leg, adding about thirty pounds and preventing any movement.

Suddenly, I felt a tugging on my sleeve. I wheeled around, almost losing my balance, hoping to see another adult. Instead, Davy's blue eyes (so similar to his uncle's) met mine.

"Aunt Hermione, d'you think Grandma would like something like that?" he inquired innocently, pointing to a leering shrunken head hanging from the ceiling by the bar.

"Well…" As I racked my brains for a tactful, yet truthful, answer, I spotted Ron and Joaquin at the bar, holding identical amber drinks.

"Ron, NO!" I tried to get to the bar. Unfortunately, I forgot all about Diane. I fell flat on my face. I rolled over on my back and stared up at Davy, who was still waiting for my opinion. I couldn't think at all; Isabel's wails had reached a deafening volume. Diane clambered on top of me, kneeing me in the stomach, and sat on my chest.

"Diane—love," I choked, "Aunt—Hermione—can't—breathe—"

"Get off, I was talking to her first!" Davy whined, pushing his sister. They began to bicker loudly, adding to the din.

Suddenly, a wolf-whistle cut through the ruckus. Every Weasley's head turned, searching for the source.

Ginny stood on a chair in the middle of the room, looking exactly like her mother when she, too, was enraged.

"Now that I've got you're attention," she blared, "I'm going to tell you what to do, or, in some cases, what not to do. Listen, or suffer the consequences. Davy, Diane, stop arguing, and stop killing Hermione. Isabel, wear your cloak, or else you will get sick, honey. Ron, don't encourage underage drinking around your nieces and nephews. They're wild enough as it is, if you hadn't noticed."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ron push the two glasses back at the bartender as Joaquin pouted.

Ginny continued. "Keep in mind Christmas is coming, and it's not too late for you lot not to get gifts." Davy and Diane exchanged horrified glances.

Ginny stepped down from the chair and took baby James, who was the quietest child in the group, from Harry.

"Nice going," Harry said to her with a wink.

"I learned for the best referee of them all," she replied evenly. "If you can handle Fred and George, you're prepared for anything."

_Too right you are_, I thought to myself, still lying on the grungy restaurant floor.

**_A/N: Please, please, review. It would make my day. Personally, I feel like I'm getting back in the swing of fanfic writing; it felt really unnatural when I was writing the first two chapters, but this one seemed to flow so much better. Plus, it's basically the story of my life, since I'm the oldest of four. Heh heh._**


	4. Ice Cream Encourages Conversation

**_A/N: Yay, early again on my update!_******

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**_Thanks to my fab reviewers: Weasel Princess, neespence, american-born-confused-desi, Misshogwarts1125, Silver Ice, hermione2, and Pikaye! Huzzah for you!_**

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**_I'm_****_ not sure what's going to happen with the updates. My grandmother's pretty sick, near death, so I don't know what's gonna happen. If I suddenly go AWOL, you all know why._**

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**_Random though/Disclaimer: Haha, my spell check thinks Parvati's name should actually be Parfait._**

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**Chapter 4: Ice Cream Encourages Conversation**

_"Are we not like two volumes of one book?" Marceline Desbordes-Valmore_

After three hours of browsing in Diagon Alley, it was clear that the younger children had had enough. Isabel had broken at least one object in every shop (Fleur, luckily, persuaded the owners not to make them pay for the merchandise—coincidentally, all the owners were male). Diane whined half the time. The other half was spent asking me why I was so mean to Elphaba. Davy had picked out many strange gifts for his grandparents, ranging from a pack of Venomous Tentacula seeds to a hideous burnt-orange Pygmy Puff., but even he had exhausted his enthusiasm.

Before Bill, Fleur, and their children headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, Bill cornered me.

"Hermione, listen," he began, looking a bit nervous, "by now you might think my kids are—erm—the spawn of Satan or something—"

"No! They're sweet kids, they're just a bit…" I searched for the word that could cover Isabel's tantrums, Diane's clinginess, and Davy's string of questions. "Energetic?"

Bill raised an eyebrow at me, and I was almost positive he could see right through me. "Anyway, I got reservations for lunch at this fancy restaurant in Muggle London—Fleur's been dying to explore Muggle things for ages—and I was wondering if you could maybe watch the kids tomorrow afternoon?"

To this day, I have no idea what possessed me to utter these next ten words.

"No, it's no problem. I'll do it. It'll be great!" I even pasted on a cheesy smile for good measure.

Bill's face split into the Weasley grin. "Thanks a million, Hermione!"

"Daaaaaaddy, wanna go home!" Isabel screeched from her mother's arms across the street.

"That's my cue, I guess." He turned to cross the street. "See you tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder. I watched him walk over to his family. Isabel was still screaming, Davy was pulling Diane's hair, and Joaquin looked like he wished he could be anywhere but there.

A cold feeling of horror washed over me. What was I _thinking_?

The others, once they found out, shared that sentiment.

"You _what_?" Ginny gasped, almost dropping James.

"Hope you grow an extra set of arms before you go," joked Harry.

"Come on," I replied, examining a pair of earrings that were practically made for Ellie, "it won't be that bad. The kids were probably just wound up because of Christmas shopping and all that." My voice exuded more confidence than I carried inside my mind.

Ginny snorted, Harry chuckled to himself, but Ron sided with me.

"Hermione can take it; I mean, if Mum was able to take care of seven kids for years, then Hermione can watch four kids for an afternoon. Plus, Fred and George aren't in the equation either."

"True," Ginny conceded, but she still looked doubtful.

After a few more hours of browsing in Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin's, James began to nod off.

"We'd better get home," Harry said quietly, "sleep is a precious commodity in the Potter household these days." Ginny chuckled.

"Have fun babysitting the tyrants," she remarked lightly. "Hey, if you survive, we'll have to have you over for dinner in the near future."

"You'd better make something good then," I replied with a smile. "Preferably lamb or pork, you know that's my favorite."

"Deal."

Ron and I said our goodbyes, then set off in the opposite direction. Sometimes the fact that Ron and I would almost always be doing the same things at the same time (with the exception of work) made me feel a little weird, for some reason. By now I was mostly used to it, especially since we had always spent a lot of time together at school. But living with him allowed me to see all of him—not only in the physical sense, but in the emotional sense as well. I knew about those idiosyncrasies and bad habits he couldn't break. It was exhilarating, yet a little frightening, to know a person that well—and, at the same time, to know that the other person knew you that well, too!

"Hey, Hermione, hungry?" Ron pointed out Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop. "Cause I'm starving!"

"Some things never change, do they?" I elbowed him in the side.

"Like how you still read _Hogwarts, a History_, every six months?"

"At least I'm doing something productive instead of stuffing my face with sweets!"

"Eating's productive, especially eating ice cream. I'd choose ice cream over a book any day."

Remembering our arguments from Hogwarts, I thought to myself again, _Some things never change._ But at least now it was just in fun.

We took our ice cream (meaning Ron's enormous triple banana split, complete with whipped cream and cherry, and my regular hot fudge sundae) to a table near the window at the parlor. Outside, snow was beginning to fall and coat the street with a fluffy white blanket.

"I hate to be the know-it-all again," I said, licking a drop of fudge from my spoon, "but why are we eating _ice cream _in the dead of winter?"

Ron grinned slyly. "Because…it's good."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, admit it. You enjoy the unpredictable, even if it's eating ice cream at a time other than the summer."

"You are too much, and by the way, I've learned to live with adventure, especially since I befriended the Boy Who Lived and his sidekick at eleven."

"But you still think it's silly to eat cold ice cream while it's snowing." He pointed his spoon at me accusingly.

"There's a reason I orde fudge, you know."

He leaned across the table and kissed my lips. I could taste the banana and chocolate, along with his special Ron taste. When we broke apart, I smiled, recalling a memory.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?"

His ears reddened, but I could tell by the smile on his face that he wasn't angry. "How could I forget? Me blurting out that I was still a virgin and you laughing about Vicky and Parvati—"

"It was funny, though, admit it!" I laughed.

"I guess." He concentrated deeply on smashing the leftover half of the last banana to a pulp with his fork.

"Ron, is something the matter?" I asked, concerned that our trip down Memory Lane had troubled him.

He abandoned the banana mush and looked at me. "Bill and Fleur already have four kids."

His random outburst nearly knocked me off my chair. How was I supposed to respond to that?

"Um, I've noticed, dear," I began carefully, "but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I dunno…even though it's always mayhem at their house, they seem really happy, y'know? And Harry and Ginny, with their baby…they're a real family."

I could begin to sense where this conversation was drifting. I slid my hand across the table and covered Ron's hand. "But we're a real family, too, Ron. You and me, together. And we're happy, right?"

"Yeah, but…I don't know…don't laugh at me for saying this—"

"I wouldn't laugh!"

He dropped his gaze to the table for a moment, then looked up at me again. "My dad told me that nothing made him happier than watching my brothers and Ginny and me grow up, knowing that, someday, we would make him proud."

I searched for a response. "So—so you're saying…" My confusion was shifting to a bit of panic as I realized what he was going to say next.

He leaned forward slightly. "I really, really want to be a dad someday, 'Mione. Not just to make my family happy, but to see you happy, too—if that's what you want."

Among the various thoughts whirling in my head, I wondered, _Since when do children guarantee happiness?_

Instead of voicing that harsh opinion, I opted for a more tactful response. "Well, we don't have to decide this in one afternoon. Let me think about it, and we'll talk more about it, too. I mean, work's been crazy lately, and—"

"Shh." He swiped my spoon and fed me a spoonful of my sundae. "No talking with your mouth full!" He grinned triumphantly.

"Mmmm!" I whined with my mouth still full, tasting the mix of vanilla and fudge, wondering what it was about Florean Fortescue's that caused us to have these discussions.

_Children...children…_I pictured myself carrying a baby just like James, only with brown eyes instead of emerald. I saw myself singing the baby to sleep. I saw Ron and me, standing over a tiny white baby bassinet, just watching our child breathe.

I swallowed the ice cream. "We'll see."

**_Review, darn it!_****_ Kidding…but please do it._**

**_FYI, I started an angsty one-shot describing Hermione's POV when Ron and Lavender walk in on her in HBP. Should be interesting…I'll try and post that soon, in addition to the updates for this one._**

**_Much love…MUAH! Pepstepper16_**


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